Light of the Moon and the Stars
by OfTheMoonAndTheStars
Summary: EDIT: Updated! How I feel the Hobbit's love story should have ended. Kíli/Tauriel. Written while listening to 'Feast of Starlight' and 'Shores of the Long Lake' from Desolation of Smaug/Battle of the Five Armies, would recommend listening to those while reading too!


A/N: UPDATED. How I feel the Hobbit's love story should have ended. Kíli/Tauriel. Written while listening to 'Feast of Starlight' and 'Shores of the Long Lake' from Desolation of Smaug/Battle of the Five Armies, would recommend listening to those while reading too! First ever fanfic for this story, hope you like it…

Disclaimer: Sadly I own none of the characters, books or film rights.

* * *

_Never give all the heart, for love  
Will hardly seem worth thinking of  
To passionate women if it seem  
Certain, and they never dream  
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;  
For everything that's lovely is  
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.  
O never give the heart outright,  
For they, for all smooth lips can say,  
Have given their hearts up to the play.  
And who could play it well enough  
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?  
He that made this knows all the cost,  
For he gave all his heart and lost._

W.B. Yeats

* * *

'Kíli!' her voice rang out. She took a step forward, her ears searching hopefully for a sign of him beyond the dull din of metal against metal, yet her senses were smothered by the heavy fog.

A short distance away, the dwarf turned in surprise at the familiar call. In the same heartbeat, two Orcs leapt towards him and he swung his sword and dived to avoid their blows. The piercing swoosh of the weapon through the air close to his head seemed deafening for a brief moment, and he fleetingly wondered if he had imagined her voice, his mind cruelly taunting him in this frantic stage of battle.

'Kíli!' her voice rang again despondently, her eyes probing the impenetrable smoke for a trace of him, of anyone.

'Tauriel!' came the heated reply, his voice resounding though her elven ears were still unable to determine his location. But he was here. Her heart immediately quickened at the promise, the hope; he was close, and he was alive.

In relief, she whispered his name gratifyingly to herself. She felt the dark presence of Bolg a moment too late. His merciless guttural cry jolted her heart as she, unable to quickly turn and face him, was slammed with forceful weight against the stone walls. She cried out in agony as her chest hit against the rock and her breath was taken from her.

Incensed at her pained scream, Kíli leapt towards the sound, which he now knew to be no figment of his imagination. Darting through the swarm of angry Orcs, he let no obstacle get in his way.

Tauriel, winded, mechanically recalled her training and pushed her emotions to the back of her mind; she was now fighting for her life, and it felt more fragile than ever before. Bolg was fierce and impossibly strong; alarmingly she felt her grip loosening on her daggers, her forceful blows felt like weak punches; he seemed to feel no pain, to suffer no injury. A chance slice across his chest led an oncoming punch of his to fall to the side, missing her; she pushed his fist further out of her direction, and with her other arm brought her dagger up and over, rushing towards his head.

But the advantage was only hers for the briefest moment. In a retaliation much quicker than she had anticipated, he grabbed her arm and bent it back awkwardly, causing her to yell in pain. He brought his large fist down on her with brute force, causing her to fall hard onto the ground.

Before she could process what had happened, she felt a tight grip around her neck. Dark spots began to appear in her vision, yet she blinked and tried to fight off the feeling of fainting. As Bolg dragged her up to face him, she clawed at his fist to little avail. He stared at her with menace, licking his lips in glee as she struggled against him.

Spitefully he then squeezed at her throat, causing her to cry out desperately for breath. She felt pure hatred rise up in her at that moment; he looked at her with a sick pleasure, a cruel and heartless desire to kill for enjoyment. Teeth clenched, she mustered what strength she could and pushed with her upper body to veer closer to his foul form; she then kicked out as hard as she could, and managed to loosen his grasp.

Now weaponless, but free, she threw her fists against him with all her might. She took some momentary satisfaction at his surprised expression. But again, his strength overcame her. Dodging another of her blows, he grabbed her already damaged arm and pulled her up and over his head, hurling her broken body against yet more cold and relentless stone.

She crashed to the ground with a pained gasp; the dark spots returned in floods this time, and she struggled to take a full breath. She felt temporarily unable to move, as parts of her ribcage and spine throbbed and her skin felt oddly wet. Wet, she realised, with her own blood.

Time slowed as she lay paralysed; Bolg's menacing figure, done with toying with her, now bore down on her as raised his weapon over his head. She inhaled and forced herself to show this monster no fear. Silently, she wistfully prayed to the Eldar that she could have seen him, once last time.

He came for her. Out of the murky and miserable cloud Kíli had found her; with a yell he leapt, weapon drawn, from the balcony above and onto Bolg's shoulders. Astonished, she could only observe as he struggled with the beast to subdue him. What little breath she could take, she expelled outwards in gratitude. The Eldar were watching, and they were listening.

Yet fate turns on us as quickly as it favours us; her prayer to the Eldar was swiftly forsaken as she helplessly watched as Bolg's strength gradually overcame the dwarf; he struggled to maintain his position as Bolg's weapon clashed against his own. Suddenly Bolg had flipped him onto the staircase; he grinned wildly as he watched Kíli scramble to recover. With a sudden panic, Tauriel realised that Bolg knew, because of her, the lineage of her saviour who had come to her rescue - the bloodline that he was determined to extinguish. Tauriel had drawn Kíli right into Bolg's clutches.

Pained, she struggled to get up, to move, to do something to help. She watched on in anguish as Kíli stood resolutely and charged at the Orc warrior with might and bravery. With a grunt, he swung his sword at his opponent, yet Bolg appeared almost unfazed.

In another charge at the Orc, Kíli swung and was subdued by the Orc's grasp, which pulled him close and allowed him to deliver a heavy punch to Kíli's face. The dwarf staggered back in shock, and yet Bolg held him upright. As he raised his weapon once more, Tauriel didn't even feel her body move; she was on the ground and then in the air within the blink of an eye. Her body was weightless, her pain muted, only her determination and resolve had lifted her to Kíli's aid.

She was upon Bolg's back, frantically clutching at his weapon as he strove to bring it down on the nephew of Thorin, of the line of Durin. But once again Bolg's unnatural strength overcame her, and with a grunt of protest, even annoyance, he forcefully shrugged her off and she slammed down again onto the ground towards the precipice. Between cries of pain she tried to find purchase, to stop her body veering over the side of the rock, lost forever to the smoke and the fire. She managed to pin her now surely broken arm down and stop herself from rolling backwards. Powerless, she looked up in vain, her efforts to rescue the dwarf now tragically spent.

She could only look on in dismay as Bolg reclaimed his ground, held Kíli still by the throat, and plunged his weapon into Kíli's body. She automatically cried out in disbelief, tears forming in her eyes as every fibre of her being fought to believe that her mind was deceiving her.

Ears ringing, she stared at Kíli as he met her gaze with a bittersweet expression, his lips moving but no words coming forth. Her mouth agape, she wanted to scream but she felt as if her throat has closed up. There would be no scream, no cry. No words. She could only stare back in horror, as her mind erratically conjured up wonderful and yet wicked images of make-believe: herself and Kíli, embracing and smiling happily; Kíli, settled beside her, in a contented deep sleep. Their dancing around the room in celebration as Thorin reclaimed Erebor, disaster and destruction a forgotten memory. Their stolen moments from the past, the here and now, and what could have been. Tears poured from her eyes as she was brought back mercilessly to the present; the cruel present, the witnessing of Kíli's death. The unspoken exchange between them seemed to last for eternity as they continued to stare at one another. So many things unsaid; and yet now, despite the lack of words they seemed to acknowledge those wants, those desires. Kíli had spoken freely; oh, how she wished that she had done the same.

Kíli breathed harshly and, with a tear falling down his face, finally tore his eyes away from her as Bolg's grip loosened. Content, Bolg let the dwarf's body fall heavily to the ground. With a crash, Tauriel cried out and looked away from the wounded body of her beloved in despair.

As the Orc-mutant turned to face her, his ominous grin savouring the grief etched across her face, he raised his weapon once more over his head.

She found, in one glimmering moment of clarity strikingly similar to that which had urged her to follow Kíli since the dwarves first escaped from the woodland realm, that she did not fear what was to come next. She was ready. Bolg had already taken from her what had come to matter most; she had lost. And what fight may have remained in her body and spirit to survive, she no longer wanted it. There was no life, only at least a former shadow of a life, without him.

She closed her eyes and determinedly accepted her destiny. She turned her face slightly away; she would not have him witness her pain. She would not watch his satisfaction as her spirit left her body. And yet abruptly she felt herself, against all odds, subconsciously dodging Bolg's weapon as she felt the force of it clamber towards her; instead of stabbing her in the chest, the knife edge caught at her abdomen. She gasped, her eyes now wide open as the pain travelled down every limb, every muscle , nerve and vein. Blood began to stream from the wound as Bolg removed it and hurriedly aimed again, ready to strike. That mattered not.

Suddenly, her elven ears pricked as she recognised the incoming steps of her prince and friend, the elf Legolas. Bolg turned towards the empty air, similarly seeming to sense another presence, and was met with the unfaltering arrows of her elven brethren. Out of the corner of her eye she recognised the figure of Legolas amongst the crowd of soldiers, deftly running towards Bolg who had stepped back into the shadows of the alcove – the same alcove he had attacked her from – for cover.

_Legolas… _She thought with affection. He had come for her too. In that moment she felt an odd relief; not that she had been spared, but that she had been given a reprieve.

She glanced over at Kíli's motionless body, her heart breaking into yet a thousand more fragments that she didn't think possible. She felt a sudden haste to go to him; he looked so alone, lying there.

Pushing with sheer force of will, Tauriel managed to shove herself onto her side. Her back and left arm ached where Borg had thrown her around against the cold, hard stone; its imprint, she felt sure, remained there on her skin. _There's no time for that_, she thought to herself urgently. _Reach him, no matter what it takes._

With one hand clutching at her abdomen staunching the flow of blood, she shuffled with her other weakened arm along the ground, using her legs to propel her forward. The excruciating pain made her lightheaded and dizzy; she didn't know if she would make it. But she had to.

It took what felt like an eternity, but she ripped a piece of clothing from her weakened arm and made a hasty tourniquet for her wound; it would stay in place, momentarily, but she knew it would not last.

Crawling towards him, she was vaguely aware of the intense battle Legolas and other elves were engaged in with Bolg. She knew she should acknowledge, while she still could, her gratitude towards her comrades. But her mind, and her heart, were focused only on Kíli. Separate waves of desperation, grief and impatience at her own progress in reaching him washed over her and crashed together in one; she continued to push through the pain and edged nearer and nearer to the dwarf's fallen body. The clashing of swords and the thud of arrows finding their mark around her became like white noise.

When she finally reached him, she knew that she had little time. Kíli's face had become deathly pale and blood poured openly from his chest wound; his eyes were unfocused and he seemed quietly, respectfully resigned to his death.

As she edged closer, she gently leant herself against his body and threw her right arm over his torso. He took a long look at her before his eyes widened in recognition.

'Taur…' Kíli whispered, his breathing short and staggered. Tears fell openly down his cheeks. 'T-Tauriel…'

Tauriel clasped his face, unwilling to risk waiting another instant. She bent forward and delicately kissed his lips, her forehead brushing against his. After a moment's hesitation, she felt him kiss her back, his hand rise and his fingers gently entwine in her auburn hair. She instinctively held back a sob; it would only deprive her of the precious seconds she had left with him.

Rising slightly to meet his eyes, she lovingly traced his jawline with her finger. 'I know how I feel. I am not afraid.' She said boldly, mirroring his words to her on those fateful shores. Tears pricked her eyes as she chastised herself for not returning his affection at that same moment; his poignant and tragic plea to her. _Come with me_… _You make me feel alive._

His eyes narrowed slightly, his breathing becoming more difficult. She held his gaze, determined that the last thing he would see was the pure and unrelenting love across her face. In return, he gave her a small yet wholly sincere and blissful smile. She beamed back, a tear falling from her cheek that landed against his. She delicately wiped it away with her forefinger.

She watched his eyes begin to glaze over, his last shuddering breaths now taking hold of his body. She reached down and took his hand, never breaking his eye contact. She could feel even through his gloves that his body was growing cold.

'…the-' he spluttered, his breath becoming quick and clearly painful. '..the sta-starlight…'

She smirked slightly as her mind instantly pulled her to those precious memories of their too brief, too fleeting, too few encounters; the elven prison, in which she delighted in recalling her travels.

_I have walked there sometimes – up into the night. I have seen the world fall away, and the white light of forever fill the air…_

In a flash, her mind brought forward the image of the fever-induced Kíli, saved by her healing powers, dazedly looking at her with a tormented mixture of hope and desolation.

_You cannot be her …. She is far, far away …. She walks, in starlight …_

Suddenly, she remembered. She held the physical, tangible proof of his promise, of all the faith and love that could and would not be. With a small whimper, she used what strength remained to lift her injured hand and reach into her pocket. There she felt the cool, smooth runestone against her bloodied fingers. As she brought it to his hand, she twisted herself down onto the ground beside him, facing him, close enough to feel the pool of dark blood underneath him growing ever larger.

The runestone lay between both of their hands; as she interlocked her fingers around his, she smiled at him once more.

'We will go there together this time, _amrâlimê_**.**' She whispered softly, her voice breaking as she spoke.

She pleaded with herself that the relentless tears would stop; they blurred her vision of him. She momentarily looked down at her wound, spots of fresh red stains emerging from her clothing, and she swallowed hard. Her free hand tore resolutely at the soiled bandage and removed it; the blood flowed freely now. The end would be quick. With a heavy sigh she looked at Kíli who, watching her, had seen his act of sacrifice matched with her own, and that their fate was now and forever intertwined.

And with that, the last traces of a tender smile upon his face, Kíli's eyes closed for the final time. With a bitter gasp, she knew, and had known from the moment he came to her rescue (and yet surely, even before then?) that this earth held nothing for her without him. The acute pain that his final breath had drawn from her was unbearable, agonising; with each gasp of air of her own that she felt privileged and yet pained to take, she could feel her broken heart loosen its ties to life, her bones let go of the physical pain they had endured, her muscles relax at the promise of eternal rest.

Tears flowing freely down her face, she laid her head to rest beside his. Her weakened arm now tucked beneath her, she cried openly and leant into her death. _What grace has given me … let us belong to each other… for eternity… _

Her eyes closed, she breathed her last breath, and walking hand in hand with her soul mate, she ascended into the stars.

* * *

The battle over, the survivors of all races and creeds regrouped.

The senseless deaths of soldiers and warriors fighting for their people and against the rising evil began to sink in.

Legolas had seen, with sorrow in his heart, as Tauriel had thought nothing of herself and her injuries but had used all of her power to die by the side of the dwarf. As pained as he was to face the reality of her actions and their meaning, he could only conclude that he did not understand it. And so, perhaps, he could not judge it either.

As the remaining dwarves from the company mourned the loss of Thorin and Fíli, the elven soldiers too began to collect their dead. Tentatively, Legolas moved towards the body of Tauriel, feeling unnerved at being a witness to this intimate scene and yet cautious about a larger audiences' reaction. He knew not how the dwarves, and the other elves, would interpret her sacrifice.

Thranduil emerged silently from the smoke, gazing intently upon their bodies and his son's hesitation.

'So, it was real...' he whispered faintly, more to himself than to Legolas. He felt unexpected tears form in his eyes. How so many years could pass, how so much pain and misery could befall others without pricking his conscience, and yet such a raw image of the horrors of battle, the ripping apart of beloved couples, the robbing of one's future happiness - and the all too painful thought of his wife, could still tear at his soul.

Legolas turned at his father's voice, then nodded slightly. He knew that the fallen couple they had encountered brought back terrible memories to his father's mind. Bending down slightly, he placed his hand gently upon Tauriel's cheek. A piercing pain stabbed through his heart; the cold touch of her skin made it real, more real than he had wanted to believe.

'Bring her back home.' Thranduil's voice commanded, though Legolas detected a touch of grief in his words. 'Her banishment is no more.'

Legolas tenderly lifted her broken body from the hard ground, and in so doing dislodged the runestone between their still touching hands; it fell with a resonating clatter, and both elves turned towards it curiously. Legolas immediately recognised it as Kíli's trinket, and turned his head away slightly, further embarrassed to have so haphazardly disturbed the lovers' final embrace.

Legolas noted with surprise that his father approached the body of Kíli and slowly, almost tenderly, placed the runestone back in his empty hand.

'_Hiro hyn h__ídh ab 'wanath..._' Thranduil whispered in Sindarin, rising and swiftly turning away without another word to his son.

Legolas, touched by his father's expression of sorrow, looked lovingly upon Tauriel's face once more, and repeated his father's prayer as he slowly rose with her in his arms. With one final look at the fallen dwarf, he nodded towards him in a gesture of respect.

'Here lies Kíli, of the line of Durin… a friend forever amongst the elves.' he said in a low voice. Bowing forward slightly, he turned and followed his father; in the distance, he heard the mourning of the company for their fallen kin.


End file.
